From: sugarellie2000@yahoo.com   
      
   Chapter 3   
      
   A call at too early an hour. Never good news. Colton’s   
   voice demanding our presence, stating that a new body   
   had been found. Waking the others, getting dressed,   
   all a routine. No coffee anywhere at this hour. It’s   
   only in the car that my automatic pilot can be turned   
   off and I start to get excited by the prospect of   
   something real and new to go on.   
   	“Do you know anything else about it?” Scully asks.   
   	I don’t and silence falls again. No one seems to be   
   ready for this yet. We had made plans to start slow   
   tomorrow, visit the crime scenes, go over some notes,   
   no such thing now.   
   	We arrive at the address that was given to me over   
   the phone. It’s in a dilapidated neighborhood, the   
   apartment block appears to be in very bad shape. Our   
   ID’s are the sign for the young cop to bring us   
   directly to detective Johnson, who’s in charge of the   
   local PD. Johnson is a fifty-year old with a large   
   posture and heavy mustache that gives him a natural   
   preponderance. We introduce ourselves, but Johnson   
   seems adamant to go straight to business.   
   “We found her after an anonymous tip to 911 this   
   morning. Two of my agents went out to investigate and   
   when they saw the note they immediately warned me and   
   agent Colton.”   
   He indicates we should follow him inside. We go to the   
   third floor where the small hallway has been taken   
   over by various government officials. Two nosy   
   neighbors are standing in their doorway to see what   
   all the fuss is about.   
   Johnson ducks under the red tape to enter the victim’s   
   apartment. We follow and see Colton’s already there.   
   Johnson looks onto his notepad and begins to recite   
   what he knows.   
   “From what we know from the neighbors this here is   
   Ella Jackson.”   
   He points to a foul smelling form on the bed. It’s   
   dark and I can’t quite make out what’s what.   
   “She was fifty-four and worked at a supermarket,   
   Milker’s, nearby. Single, no children, no friends, no   
   enemies. We think she’s been dead for about three   
   days.”   
   I walk towards the dark form in the corner. When I’m   
   close enough I see an obese African-American woman   
   lying on her side. A crusted dark red stain colors her   
   dirty yellow nightgown in her chest. I look at the   
   night stand and I see the note is still lying there.   
   ‘Sorry’ it says in capitals. I turn to the woman   
   again. It appears she has fallen to the side after she   
   was shot and when I turn around I see what she was   
   looking at. A TV-set is standing across the small   
   room.   
   “Was that on?” I ask Johnson.   
   He nods.   
   “We dusted it for finger prints and then turned it   
   off. It was on a soap channel of some sort. I think   
   she died watching The Young and the Restless or   
   something.”   
   I make a mental note to check for TV listings on the   
   channel. I glance over the room. It has only the   
   simplest things a human needs: a microwave and a   
   TV-set. It doesn’t appear to be very clean either.   
   “Good morning agent Mulder.” I hadn’t noticed Colton   
   standing next to me.   
   “Has detective Johnson filled you in already?”   
   I nod.   
   “Well, you probably haven’t heard that we contacted   
   the supermarket where she works. Her boss hadn’t   
   reported her missing because he had figured she was   
   just sick and didn’t tell him. When I said I was   
   calling about Ella Jackson, the first thing he said   
   was that I should tell he she’s fired.”   
   He grins, but I don’t see the humor.   
   Another young agent walks in and taps Colton on the   
   shoulder.   
   “Excuse me sir, we’ve found the person who placed the   
   911 call. It’s a 16-year old boy. His little brother   
   seems to have found the body, but he got scared and   
   ran off. He warned his big brother and he in turn   
   called 911. Should we take them to the station?”   
   Colton nods.   
   “You and Henderson can interrogate them.”   
   He walks away to make place for a forty-year old bald   
   guy.   
   “Sir?”   
   Colton nods again.   
   “Can we take the body yet?”   
   Colton turns around to Scully.   
   “Agent Scully, could you go with them? At the morgue   
   you’ll meet Cindy Hughes, who’s the pathologist on   
   this case. It would be great if the autopsy could be   
   done as soon as possible.”   
   “Sure,” she answers, while glancing at me.   
   Go. I let my face tell her.   
   	   
   ~   
      
   	I meet Cindy Hughes at the morgue. She had been the   
   coroner on the fourth and the fifth victim and had   
   been put in charge of the others as soon as the   
   connection was discovered. I instantly like her. She   
   has an attitude towards me that is a relief compared   
   to some I have encountered before. Often the   
   pathologists, especially men, feel threatened by an   
   intruder who comes to reevaluate their work,   
   especially if the intruder is a woman. I felt like   
   Cindy Hughes thought of me as someone who could teach   
   her things, as well as the other way around.   
   Immediately we work together instead of as competitors   
   for some invisible prize handed out to the person who   
   knows things best, or who's most persistent.   
   She tells me the corpses she had seen so far were not   
   very remarkable, rather that it’s the number that gets   
   to you. Indeed, when she points out which drawers are   
   filled with victims of the same men, it’s the first   
   time I really realize the sheer number. She has done   
   five autopsies so far. Two of them had already been   
   autopsied before, but she had wanted to check them out   
   anyway. Of the others it had only been determined they   
   were victims because of the note.   
   	Ella Jackson’s remains arrived here a couple of   
   minutes before I did and I see it has been placed on   
   the autopsy table already when we walk in.   
   	“So, another one, huh?” She asks.   
   	I nod.   
   	“Well, let’s hope that we’ll find something this time   
   then.”   
      
   	   
   ~   
   	   
   	I am excited. Very excited. A new body, a new trail,   
   fresh this time. My mind is already wandering towards   
   fantasies of great discoveries and magnificent praise   
   by the FBI. I look around the crime scene, trying to   
   take everything, not miss a detail, so later, at the   
   right time, I can link the details together, so they   
   form one big picture, one of the murderer. At the same   
   time though, I feel like I’m drowning in the details.   
   There were so many already and now only more and more   
   links and leads have come forward. My favorite teacher   
   at the academy used to explain that every case has a   
   point in which you have enough information to know who   
   the perpetrator is. After that point all additional   
   information only clutters your vision, obscures the   
   answers. There is a point where you have to stop   
   getting more information and I can’t help but feel   
   like that point is long passed on this case. The   
   seventh victim.   
   	John looks as lost as I am. Mulder seems completely   
   oblivious to anything other than the case at hand.   
   	“John?”   
   	“Do you think we should maybe interrogate some   
   witnesses. That might help. We could ask Colton who   
   hasn’t been interrogated yet.”   
   He seems pleased with my idea. I am too. Finally to   
   have something on my hands instead of feeling useless   
   like a sidekick.   
      
   ~   
      
   Cindy asked me if I wanted to help her with the last   
   autopsy as well. So after we had finished with Ella   
   Jackson, we took a short break and then got back to   
   work.   
   I look at the numerous drawers full of dead people and   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)